


Well Manicured

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Tactile Overload, maintenance, medic hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knock Out is of the opinion that personal maintenance should be enjoyable. Breakdown makes sure that this appointment goes above and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Manicured

**Author's Note:**

> I got a request on tumblr for something with sensitive medic hands, and Knock Out very quickly insisted it be about him. Very demanding, those Decepticon medics!

“You comfortable?” Breakdown asked, his large, heavy blue frame positioned behind the padded chair he was bracing for Knock Out. The bright red medic shifted a little bit more, searching for the best position before settling into a graceful recline.

“Hmmm, yes, absolutely,” he said, tipping his helm back just enough to glance up at his assistant. “It’s perfect. Now get over there and get started,” he ordered. His tone held only a slight edge though, the bite in his words playful instead of serious. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Breakdown chuckled, the deep rumble travelling through the chair and its occupant as he pushed it up to the workbench, which had been meticulously set up earlier. “You’re not the only one.”

Knock Out pouted as Breakdown moved away, lamenting the loss of the gentle vibration. “I was enjoying that,” he said. “Perhaps an upgrade is in order.”

“For the chair?” Breakdown asked, confused. “You just said it was comfortable.”

“Well, yes, but why settle for just comfortable? Why not go for luxurious?” Knock Out asked haughtily. “A proper high-end salon should have a massage chair, don’t you think?”

Breakdown laughed. “Maybe later. For now,” he gave Knock Out a meaningful look. “Hands up here.”

“So bossy,” Knock Out said, though he brought his hands up and held them out delicately in front of him without further protest, optics bright with anticipation. This was one of their long-standing rituals, and Knock Out wanted Breakdown to get on with it as much as the other mech wanted to get started.

After situating himself on the other side of the bench, Breakdown reached across and took Knock Out’s hands in his own. Using surprisingly deft fingers to turn and manipulate each tapered digit, he began testing their range and fluidity of motion. He scanned each one for scuffs and scratches in the light of a small desk lamp, using careful touches to feel for imperfections. The serious look of concentration he wore was one that Knock Out found absolutely adorable, though he would never admit it out loud.

Instead, the medic simply purred contentedly while Breakdown gently stroked his fingers, tracing each segment so lightly the sensitive appendages twitched reflexively from time to time. His expression narrowed minutely as he noted the places that needed the most attention, thoroughly examining every edge and plane before stilling his hands over Knock Out’s palms and raising his helm with a smile at the medic’s already slightly uneven ventilations. 

“They’re in pretty good shape,” he said, sounding pleased. “The joints in your left third finger could stand to be tightened a little and we might want to replace a couple of the screws next time. But, there aren’t any deep scratches to fill or debris to dig out this time. Just a little cosmetic damage.”

“Now, now, you know I take cosmetic damage very seriously Breakdown,” Knock Out scolded, trying and failing to hide his breathlessness. “I expect you to fix every. Last. Blemish.”

Breakdown’s optics glowed warmly. “Oh, I intend to,” he promised, squeezing firmly once before letting go. “First things first - let’s get you set up with a warm solvent soak.” He reached out to pull the basin from the corner of the bench over to the center. From an assortment of bottles, he poured out a custom blend of cleansing agents into the water already standing in it. With a gentle stir the mixture was ready, the aroma and radiating warmth both highly enticing.

Knock Out started to lower his hands into it right away, but Breakdown caught them just before they broke the tranquil surface. “Ho-old on,” he drawled. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. You still have your sensors on their regular setting. _”_ He dragged a thumb up the side of one hand and pressed against the dense cluster of wires and connectors buried in Knock Out’s wrist until he heard the medic’s sharp intake. “Turn them _up._ ”

There was a quick rev from Knock Out’s high-performance racing engine before he forced it back down to idle. “Oh, did I forget to do that? My bad,” he said, completely unapologetically. With a wink, he fully activated the sensors in his hands that allowed for heightened pickup of temperature changes, pressure, and electrical currents. Those upgrades helped him perform remarkable feats of surgery in the operating theater, but there were other, more pleasurable uses for them as well. Breakdown let go with a hum of approval when he felt the faint spasm run through his hands from the rising heat registering anew, waiting for him to continue.

Left to submerge his hands at his own pace, Knock Out went slowly while Breakdown took the time to clear away the cleanser bottles and readied some of the other supplies. The solvent was blissfully warm, and the gradual slide of it up over his digits felt wonderful. He sighed, resting his wrists on the edge of the basin in the curved depressions meant for them as it came up over his palms and the tops of his hands. To his heightened sensors the liquid felt almost solid, a thick weight against his fingers as he moved them gently back and forth through it.

After a moment of letting the solvent work to loosen any accumulated oil and grease, Breakdown held up a familiar set of small cleaning brushes and soft mesh cloth. “Ready?” he asked unnecessarily, reaching into the basin to lift one of Knock Out’s hands in his. He set to work, meticulously going over it just as he had done before, only this time with the more than just his fingers.

“Mmm, yesss,” Knock Out groaned happily. The bristles of the larger brush rasped over his plating while the smaller ones tickled between the joints. Breakdown switched back and forth between them, dragging and scraping against the underlying sensors almost to the point of over-stimulating them before soothing them again with soft, sweeping strokes of the mesh. The soft, circling movements of the microfine weave cooled the burn left in the wake of the brushes, and Knock Out’s fans came on to cool the burn building in his frame as Breakdown finished the last finger.

“Marvelous! Don’t stop!” he panted, watching intently as Breakdown picked up a long, narrow brush and dipped it almost lewdly into the solvent back and forth before bringing it up to hover over Knock Out’s helplessly exposed palm until it dripped, making him hiss with sensation at the splash.

“Heh heh, good to know I haven’t lost my touch,” the big mech said sultrily, angling the hand he was holding to allow him to slide the brush deeply into the most sensitive channel yet. He smiled and held their hands still as Knock Out shuddered, keeping the brush from poking or damaging the delicate internal components as he trembled. “You should let me do this more often.”

“I-I’m trying…to remember…why I don’t!” Knock Out replied, somehow recollecting himself enough to reduce his involuntary movements to an occasional tremor. “You’d probably get-nngg! Get too good for me to last!!”

“Maybe I’d just get better at dragging it out then,” Breakdown said, illustrating with a long, firm drag of the brush. He dipped it again in the cleanser before repeating the gesture with the next seam, rinsing it each time in between uses to clean it and to rewarm it. Knock Out didn’t seem to have anything to say in response to that - nothing polite, at any rate.

By the time Breakdown had finished with his palm and wrist, using the mesh to wipe them down and wick away the excess solvent, Knock Out was starting to have trouble speaking at all. “Hahh…y-you…are already… _very_ good…at dragging things out,“ he gasped, his hand practically vibrating where Breakdown held it in the air above the basin.

“Am I?” Breakdown asked mildly, setting down the narrow brush in exchange for the first one again. He set the freshly cleaned hand down on a mesh pad beside the basin before taking the other from it and grinning. “Let’s test that.”

He went much more slowly with this hand than the first, lingering even longer over each finger and twirling the brushes even deeper into the cracks and crevices. Of course, it also went slower because he kept having to stop and wait for Knock Out’s fans to come down from their highest setting, only to continue and drive them right back up again. His touches never strayed above the wrist, but the deceptively simple tactile stimulation had Knock Out’s whole sensornet tingling, excess charge building up in his lines as the feedback from his hands flooded his systems and threatened to overwhelm his processor.

At last Breakdown finished, leaning back to take in Knock Out’s current state. The medic held his hands stiffly like he was afraid to move them, as if the smallest breath of air would be too much to take. His optics were bright with excess charge and his mouth hung open slightly, both his primary intake and his fans struggling to pull in cooler air. “Hmm. Perhaps I let you get _too_ close,” he said, sounding far more smug than contrite. “It’s far too soon for you to be done already. Maybe you need a minute to calm down and cool off.”

“Ah-I…I’m fine,” Knock Out gasped.

Breakdown chuckled. “Of course you are.” Taking the basin and swiveling his chair, he dumped out the used solvent in the sink behind him and rinsed it before refilling it with cool, clear water. Turning around, he set it back down between Knock Out’s hands and gestured to it pointedly. “ _Slowly,_ ” he warned.

Knock Out tried to huff as he complied, the effect somewhat ruined by the ragged catching of his engine. Daring Breakdown to comment with a glare, he gratefully let his hands sink into the water. “Ahhh…” he sighed, helm tipping back as the silken slide of it pressing into and filling the tiny spaces between his plating melted away the lingering prickles the mesh hadn’t been able to reach. He shuttered his optics, relishing the relief, and as such didn’t see the wicked grin that crossed Breakdown’s face as he retrieved a small, round pellet from a canister beneath the bench and brought it up to hold over the water’s surface.

The sensation of heavy fingers coming down to pin his wrists against the rim of the basin brought Knock Out back to the present. He blinked and reset his optics, trying to lift his hands only to have Breakdown press down more firmly, keeping them where they were underwater. “Or maybe,” he said, rolling the sphere between his fingers casually, “it’ll be easier to draw out the _next_ overload if I go ahead and give you one now.” Then he dropped it.

As soon as it struck the water it began to bubble and froth, starting from the point of contact and rippling out across the surface rapidly. Knock Out tried one last time to squirm free as it spread, only to have Breakdown rest his other hand firmly against his chest to hold him in place. “I-” he started to protest, but Breakdown cut him off.

“Trust me.”

“HaHH!” Then suddenly the rush of the bubbles was colliding with the backs of his hands, bursting against his plating before sizzling down his fingers. “OHH! B-Brea-kd-down!!” he exclaimed as they slipped through his seams to pop directly against his circuitry. It felt like miniature fireworks, the heat of the chemical reaction and the rhythmic internal massage of the bubbles sending electricity cascading through him hard enough to visibly spark off his plating. “AhhHHH!” He arched back against the chair with a cry, hands rigid and fingers fully extended as every joint seized and locked up in a white-out inducing overload.

He almost didn’t feel Breakdown lifting his hands and pouring coolant over them, washing away the bubbles and beading up to drip agonizingly from his aching fingertips. He barely processed Breakdown clearing the basin away, laying out a soft oil-infused mesh even finer than the first. Knock Out whined as his hands touched it, even its soft texture almost too much to take. 

Eventually, however, his systems began to recalibrate and his vision finally cleared. “Th-kk-t…” It took a moment longer to clear the static from his vocalizer. “That,” he tried again, “was completely unfair, Breakdown.” It was hard to muster up much disapproval at the moment though, and the admonishment fell somewhat flat.

“Fair wasn’t the point,” Breakdown said. “It was just supposed to feel good.” He paused, seeming hesitant for the first time. “Did it? Feel good, I mean.”

Knock Out laughed, the sound wheezy but genuine. “Oh, no, it didn’t feel good at all!” He flashed a smile up at his partner. “It felt _amazing_.”

Relief spread across Breakdown’s features and his posture relaxed. “Ah, well, I thought you might enjoy those when I came across them,” he said, confidence still not fully restored.

“You thought correctly,” Knock Out reassured him, strength coming back enough to sit back up from the slump he’d fallen into. “I’m just going to have to keep you around if you’re going to come up with ideas like that. Besides,” He flexed his fingers slowly, testing them before crooking one at Breakdown. “You need to finish me.”

“Thought that’s what I just did,” Breakdown laughed, taking the mesh and wrapping it around Knock Out’s hands and rubbing gently through it, massaging the oil carefully into the tender joints with long movements directed down the fingers towards the palms. “But you’re right, I’m not finished. And neither is _your_ finish.”

He jerked his helm sideways at the remaining implements on the bench - a microbuffer and several different containers of wax.

“So. Ready to buff and polish?”


End file.
